Visitor
by morganna le fay
Summary: Now, now..Dry your eyes." The girl did so, still sniffling. "You needn't worry about where you pray.The Lord and His angels will always hear you." My God, I dont know what this is. Just tales of Christine & Eriks early relationship. (As in, Christine's ch
1. Default Chapter

A little girl lay in bed in the empty dormitory, her small body almost invisible beneath the many blankets heaped over her. Only her face peeped out above the quilts, a sweet countenance with a pert nose, a cherubic mouth, and a pair of large, liquid brown eyes.

Those eyes were closed as the girl slumbered fitfully on the thin mattress beneath her. She would have continued to sleep, had not a blonde head peered through the door of the dormitory and whispered loudly.

"Christine! Are you awake?"

When the question went unanswered, the body belonging to the head stepped cautiously into the room. It was another girl, slightly younger than the one in the bed. Part of her long golden hair was bound up in a bow whose shade of blue matched her eyes almost exactly. She looked as though she had stepped right out of a painting by Degas; little satin toe-shoes were on her feet and she wore a gauze tutu.

The girl tiptoed closer to Christine's sleeping form, sat on the bed next to her and shook her arm gently.

"Christine!" She whispered again. "Wake up!"

Christine rolled over and moaned softly.

"Meg…What is it?"

"Are you feeling any better?"

The dark-haired girl rubbed the heels of her hands into sleepy eyes.

"Well, I was…"

Meg fluffed the pillows and helped her friend sit up.

"You're very lucky that you didn't have to dance to-day. Mama treated us like slaves."

Christine smiled wanly.

"I wish that I felt well enough to dance, Meg. It's just so very lonely sitting up here all by myself."

Meg gave her friend's hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"But now I'm here to keep you company. We'll have fun, you and I."

She paused for a moment as an unpleasant thought intruded on her optimism.

"Just as long as Mama doesn't find—"

"Marguerite Giry!"

A hushed but sharp voice interrupted her sentence. Standing in the doorway was a tall, sever-looking woman, whose stern bearing was slightly belied by the kind light in her green eyes. Nevertheless, both Christine and Meg flinched slightly as the woman swooped down, hawk-like, upon them.

"What are you two doing?"

She addressed a guilty-eyed Meg.

"Didn't I tell you to let Christine alone? I do not want you getting ill as well. Go downstairs this instant and get yourself some supper."

"But Mama…" Meg protested feebly.

Her mother lifted a hand to silence her and nodded towards the door.

"Go."

The little girl heaved a dramatic sigh, jumped lightly off the bed, and with a tiny wave to her friend, exited the room.

Christine glanced up at the woman nervously.

"Madame Giry, please don't be cross with Meg; she only came to keep me company. I asked her to."

The ballet mistress smiled. "I do not doubt that she meant it well, but there is the chance that you would make her ill, and she in turn, would cause every girl in this dormitory to be bedridden."

Christine nodded, seeing the reason in this.

"Now hold still," Madame Giry commanded, putting out a hand to feel the girl's forehead and face. "Hmm…" she mused. "Still a bit warm, but nothing that a few days of rest won't cure"

So saying, she handed Christine a mug of tea she had been holding and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Drink it up, the warmth will do your throat a world of good."

The girl did not reply; she simply stared fixedly into her lap. And, as Madame Giry watched, a single tear ran down her cheek to land with a plop in the amber depths of her tea. With a look of concern, the ballet mistress reached over and touched Christine's trembling shoulder.

"What is wrong my dear?"

The girl looked up, tears streaming down her face. "I want to go to the chapel and light a candle for my Papa. I promised him that I'd pray every day. If I don't, I'll have been lying, and lying is a sin. I promised…"

Her voice dwindled off, and her shoulders hunched, almost as if she was collapsing in on herself. Madame Giry quickly produced a handkerchief from within a pocket of her dress.

"Now, now…dry your eyes."

The girl did so, still sniffling.

"You needn't worry about _where_ you pray child. The Lord and His angels will always hear you."

Christine glanced at the woman, her brown eyes still dewy with tears.

"But," she replied quietly, "Can I hear angels wherever _I_ am?"

The ballet mistress smiled at the young girl's fancy. Hearing angels!

"Yes Christine, you can hear them too. But now you must rest. The angels will only speak in dreams."

She watched as Christine, suddenly at peace, lay obediently back in bed and closed her eyes. It was a small thing really, to humor a sick little girl. Indeed, though it was only the early evening, the child could make use of the extra sleep.

_Now_, Madame Giry thought as she exited the room, _I must find Meg and apologize for my sharp words. The poor thing was only trying to comfort her friend. _Taking care that the door of the dormitory was shut firmly behind her, she set off down the hall.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, Christine's eyes fluttered open. For a moment she did not know what had awakened her; everything seemed as usual. The candles on the bed stands had all been snuffed out by their owners; the room's darkness was pierced only by a few intrepid moonbeams straggling through the single window, and she could hear the soft breathing of the other girls in their beds.

As she awoke, she became aware of a gentle touch on her face, bushing damp, sweaty curls from her feverish forehead. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, she was able to make out a dark form sitting on the edge of her bed. The girl tried to speak, to ask who was there, but her voice only emerged a weak croak. Her throat was on fire and attempting to talk only made it worse. She whimpered in pain.

At her first weak vocalization the shadow had stiffened, as though startled, but now it seemed to relax and touched her face again; Christine could feel the soft leather gloves encasing its hands. Then, softly, almost imperceptively, the figure began to sing. The girl did not know the words, but she recognized the voice.

Fighting the pain in her throat, she managed to whisper hoarsely.

"Angel?"

The voice replied, soft and rich as velvet.

"Yes Christine, it is I."

Almost delirious with joy, she took the figure's large hand in both of her little ones and pressed it against her face.

"I was afraid you wouldn't know where to find me."

The girl smiled in the darkness as the voice of her angel washed over her.

"Do not doubt child. I will always know where you are."

Using its free hand, the figure pressed Christine gently back down from her upright position. "You must sleep now, and regain your strength."

Lying back in the bed, the girl muttered sleepily, "Madame Giry said that as well. Will sleeping _really_ help me get better?"

She felt, rather than saw, her angel's smile.

"Rest does indeed aid recovery. You would do well to heed Madame Giry. She is a wise woman."

Christine nodded, not really listening, her eyes beginning to close. The figure saw this and began to sing again, softly, so as not to wake the other girls in the room. Finally the angel's young charge drifted off to the land of dreams, wrapped in a cocoon of song.

Soon after Christine had fallen asleep, the figure gently disentangled its black-gloved hand from the girl's grip and stepped away from the bed. The child within stirred but did not awaken. With a movement of its lips that might have been a smile, the figure leaned over and arranged her hair so that it spread neatly across the pillow, and, as a parting gesture, ran one finger down the girl's face, almost as though tracing invisible tears.

Then, without making a sound, the shadow turned on its heel and left the room. It paused for a moment in the darkness of the hallway, took a step towards the wall, and suddenly disappeared, leaving no sign that it had ever been there at all.

_**FIN**_

This is my first time posting on so be kind. Read and review please.


	2. Sticks and Stones

Ok people, I honestly don't know where the heck this story is going right now. These next few chapters are all parts of the same incident, but due to time restraints I cant type them all at once.

Disclaimer: Blah-blah

Thank you so much to all who reviewed and inspired me to keep writing. I will thank you guys personally in the next chapter.

"An angel?"

"Shh! Meg, please!" Christine looked around nervously, attempting to locate any eavesdroppers. She needn't have bothered.

The dormitory was milling with over twenty girls from seven to fifteen years of age, all bustling about, preparing for bed. Clothes had to be taken off, folded neatly, and placed under the bed with the rest of one's belongings; hair had to be brushed and plaited, faces were washed, hands were scrubbed, and toiletries put away with military precision in accordance to Madame Giry's unbending regime of neatness. But, of course, during such trivial tasks, more important things were addressed, such as sharing twenty girl's day's worth of gossip. The noise was unbearable.

Nevertheless, Meg lowered her voice as she craned her head over her shoulder, trying to catch the eye of her friend who was helping her unfasten the line of tiny whalebone buttons trailing down the back of her shift. "Christine, are you sure you feel well?"

The little brunette let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes! I haven't been ill since last week, when-"

"-When your angel visited." Meg completed this with the air of someone who has heard a story a thousand times and is getting a bit tired of it.

Christine winced at her friend's incredulous tone. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Meg shrugged out of her dress and began to peel off her small petticoats, not meeting her friend's hurt gaze. Christine bit her lip. Of course Meg was skeptical! Despite her wild tales and chronic lying, the little dancer's nature was such that she needed to see concrete evidence of everything. Christine had the feeling that if Meg ever got the slightest inkling that her friend had a guardian angel, she would begin pushing her from the rafters to see proof that a celestial being would catch her.

Over by her bed, Meg pulled on a nightgown, the material obscuring her face for a moment. "It isn't that I don't _believe_ you Christine…" The child paused and seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "But…you said yourself that you only remember a little bit about that night…" Meg's tousled blonde head reemerged from the nightgown. "Perhaps you only-"

"Dreamed it?" Christine's voice came from the floor, where she sat removing her shoes. "I couldn't have Meg…I just couldn't have." She paused a moment. "I could feel how much he cared…He loved me!"

Despite herself, Meg smiled. She began to reply, when a low, mocking voice cut in on their conversation.

"Love? You? Don't make me laugh!"

Christine's shoulders tensed as both she and Meg turned to see a thin girl about two years older than them, perhaps ten, with pretty, rather vulpine features, eyeing Christine with distaste. "Who would waste their time caring about you, Mouse?" She flipped her red-gold hair over her shoulder and grinned maliciously as Christine's brown eyes filled with tears.

One bed over, Marie Delaroche, a close friend of Meg's, sat up, shaking black hair out of her face and fixed her piercing emerald gaze on Christine's tormenter. "Estelle, stop it. You're being hateful."

Estelle gave her a contemptuous glance. "Quiet! I'll say whatever I wish. So what about it Mouse?" She addressed Christine again. "Who's this person who _loves _you so much?"

There was a long silence as Christine stared down at her stockinged feet, not saying a word. The other girls had long since stopped their tasks to watch the drama. A few of them were shooting Estelle looks of the utmost disgust, but were loath to fight her, lest Madame Giry find out and punish them.

Estelle let out a ringing laugh. "I thought so. You disgusting little brat, you don't matter to anyone!" Christine suddenly scrambled to her feet, and for a moment it looked as though she would defend herself. But her courage seemed to fail her, and she ran from the room. Marie called out after her but got no reply, only the sound of her unshod feet descending hurriedly down a staircase.

Meg turned swiftly on Estelle, a dangerous glint in her blue eyes. "Take that back you vicious beast! How dare you be so cruel!" The older girl looked down at Meg disdainfully.

"Why should I take it back? It's true. And, even if I did, she can't hear me now. The little runt is probably downstairs in some corner, crying like she always does." Her voice became high-pitched, mocking. "Whining for her father!"

This was the last straw. With an inarticulate scream of rage, Meg hurled herself at Estelle, kicking and biting furiously. Estelle was knocked over by the force of the attack and both girls rolled over and over on the floor, fighting like a pair of crazed cats. The other ballet rats afforded themselves the luxury of one shocked moment of silence before rising to action, trying to separate the brawling girls and all accusing or defending either Meg or Estelle at the top of their voices. Marie and her twin sister Josephine recruited help and finally managed to pry Meg, who was shrieking words that no civilized eight-year-old should know, off of a screaming Estelle.

"Stop it!" Josephine cried, desperately striving to be heard above the din. "Stop it, everyone, please!" And, as though some god had decided to interfere on the girl's behalf, the entire room suddenly fell silent. Meg, her arm still clamped in Marie's tight grip, slowly turned to see her mother standing in the doorway.

The woman's sharp green eyes narrowed as they took in the entire scene: twenty girls in various stages of undressing, all trying to look as innocent as possible; Meg, bleeding from scratches on her face, being restrained by Josephine, Marie, and several others; Estelle, with a bloody nose and the beginnings of a magnificent black eye, being consoled by one of her friends, a tall pretty blonde named Annette. In short, it looked as though a full-scale tornado had swept through the room, with several casualties.

"What," hissed the woman, "happened here?" There was no reply, everyone having become seemingly fascinated by the floor. The ballet mistress strode into the room, skirts rustling, and stopped before Estelle and Meg, towering over them like some malevolent goddess. They cowered appropriately. Her eyes turned to Josephine. "Were these two fighting?"

The black-haired girl fidgeted and cast a desperate glance towards her twin, who shrugged helplessly. Finally, after gathering her thoughts, Josephine began to relate the past incident in her typical unhurried, unbiased manner.

However, before she was halfway through, Annette broke in. "That is untrue!" She snapped. "You're trying to make it seem as though it were Estelle's fault!"

"That's because it was!" growled Meg.

For a moment, it looked like there was going to be another fight, but neither girl dared risk it under the baleful gaze of Madame Giry, who snapped her fingers at Josephine, bidding her to continue. The girl did so, ending at last with, "And now we don't know where Christine is!"

The ballet mistress seemed to take no notice of this last remark and instead took a step forward and gripped both Meg and Estelle's upper arms tightly. "You two," she said coldly, "will both be severely punished for this disgusting misconduct. Tomorrow after rehearsals, you will spend another two hours exercising at the bar. Together." Estelle heaved a martyred sigh as Meg glared at her.

"Now," Madame Giry released the miscreants, "all of you to bed! Now!" She clapped her hands and there was a sudden scramble to pull on nightgowns. In a matter of minutes, the room was dark, with a girl-shaped bundle in each bed.

Once satisfied that all talking had ceased, the ballet mistress stepped out of the dormitory and closed the door behind her. She looked down the long narrow hallway, her expression suddenly one of concern. "Christine?" she called. No answer. With a growing sense of urgency, the woman began to walk quickly towards the five flights of stairs leading to the auditorium. Perhaps she was hiding in one of the boxes…

Like it? Hate it? Review please!


	3. Chapter 3

Here we are ladies and gents…the third chapter! I shall now proceed to give credit to those who reviewed.

Kiwi Anime- Thanks so much for your insightful review of my first chapter and your very flattering one on the second. I really don't know how I feel about this chapter yet, so I look forward to your next analysis.

Osiris Grey- Ah, so you finally DID read it. I knew I'd wear you down eventually.

Onyx and S- Thank you very much. I started my next chapter just for you.

Jenni-nikole- Saw your review in my inbox this morning and it completely lit up my day.

Magick Alianne- Thanks so much. Here is the update my dear.

JennAnn-The first story is always the hardest but it's the reviews (like yours) that keep me going.

LazyCat- Thankies. BTW, I like your username.

Violin Rose- Huggles to my first reviewer…You're going to heaven

Anyhow, one little disclaimer (of a sort). You may think that the Erik I write in these chapters acts differently than the guy we know and love. But, who doesn't act differently around small children?

Real Disclaimer: I own none of these characters in this fic accept for Josephine, Marie, Estelle and Annette.

After Estelle's cutting remarks had chased her from the dormitory, Christine had fled down five flights of stairs, across the great marble floor of the foyer, and out the doors, trying desperately to leave that hateful place far behind her…

Now, almost half an hour later, here she was. Too tired to run anymore, she was breathing hard and sweating, despite the chill of the windy autumn night. The girl peered at the surrounding street. None of this looked familiar to her. She wrapped her arms around herself nervously. In the flickering light of the gas lamps, each shadow seemed like a monster waiting to grab her with vicious claws. Shuddering, she took a deep breath and began to run again, searching for some recognizable landmark. But, alas, the girl had traveled into the backstreets and alleyways of Paris, a labyrinth in which she had become hopelessly lost.

The street's cobbles bruised her stockinged feet as she ran, unable to escape the words that seemed to echo in her head.

"Love? You? Don't make me laugh…You disgusting little brat, you don't matter to anyone!"

Halting abruptly, Christine sank to the ground and pulled her knees to her chest, striving vainly to wipe tears off of her pale cheeks. It's a lie! I matter! I do! She thought desperately. I matter to Meg. I'm her best friend! But…why did she just stand there? Estelle was so cruel…And no one spoke a word in my defense. Not Josephine, not Meg, not Marie…No one…

The tears came faster as the girl put her head down on her arms, her dark hair forming curtains on either side of her face. A gust of wind swept through through the alleyway, causing her to shrink further against the wall in an effort to ward off the chill. A dreadful feeling of unreasonable hopelessness came over her and she moaned softly.

I don't want to be alone…

Moments, or perhaps hours later, the girl was roused from her tear-soaked doze by a gentle touch on her shoulder.

"Are you all right mademoiselle?"

Christine froze. It couldn't be, and yet, there it was. Impossibly, but unmistakably, the voice of her Angel. She began to lift her head and speak, but paused. It couldn't be him. That voice, which seemed so at home in the magical region of the Opera House, seemed strangely out of place in the dingy alley, like finding a pearl in a muddy gutter. It had to be her imagination.

She raised her tear-streaked face to see the shadowy figure of a man kneeling next to her. Feeling a twinge of disappointment, the girl nevertheless tried to answer politely. "Y-yes…I just-I cant seem to-"

"You have been crying" This last was a statement, not a question.

Wondering how he could see her tears in the darkness, Christine nodded miserably. "I…I don't know where I am…I ran away…"And before she knew it, she was telling the stranger the whole story, from Meg's disbelief, to Estelle's wicked words, to her friend's unwillingness to stand up for her. Eventually, her voice dwindled away, leaving an aching silence in its wake.

Her companion, who had been listening attentively throughout the entire narrative, now sat back on his heels and replied softly, "Perhaps you were too quick to condemn Meg. She may very well have defended you after you left the room. Your friends…" He paused for a moment and then continued, it seemed to Christine, a bit sadly. "Your friends are the most valuable things you can have. Don't create battles with the ones who love you."

Christine kept her eyes down, feeling chastised.

Seeing this, the stranger got silently to his feet. "Come, you must return. Someone will have missed you."

The girl looked up at him warily. She knew what could happen to a child wandering the streets alone. It had been dictated to her with great relish many times by Meg. She knew she could be hurt, and yet…she felt herself trusting the stranger implicitly. She slowly stood up and moved out of the shadows, able to see her companion's shape clearly for the first time.

He was tall and thin, dressed all in black and wrapped in a long black cloak. Christine took a step toward him, unable to see his face in the darkness. "You can take me back home?"

The stranger seemed to laugh. "Yes, child. Now, come with me." Not waiting for her reply, the figure turned on its heel and began to walk away. Christine hung back for one last indecisive moment, and then trotted quickly after her escort.

He turned to look at her, his face still hidden in shadow. With a shy smile, Christine slipped her little hand into his; for a brief moment, her companion seemed a bit surprised, but he covered it. Not a word passed between them as they maneuvered, Christine noticed, the backstreets and alleyways: The only places without streetlamps. Christine was about to comment on this when another gust of wind swept past, skittering the dry leaves on the ground and chilling the girl to the bone. Shivering, she ducked under the stranger's cloak, and pressed herself securely against his outer leg and hip, the cloak forming a warm, dark, cashmere tent over her.

Her companion paused and looked down at her small shape obscured beneath his cloak. "Comfortable?"

"Mm-hm."

They continued on in silence.

A quarter of an hour later, Christine's eyelids had begun to droop, her tired feet stumbling over the cobblestones. Her escort put out a black-gloved hand to steady her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes…I'm just so tired…" Running a hand through her curls, the child gave a little gasp of dismay as a short length of pink ribbon fell from her hair to the street. "Oh dear…" She stooped to retrieve it and upon standing, attempted to fasten the ribbon in her hair.

Several tries later, a frustrated Christine turned and held out the bit of satin to her companion. "Could you help me please? Josephine has shown me hundreds of times but I can't seem to be able to do it."

The stranger nodded, taking the ribbon in his hand. Christine turned her back to him, fidgeting impatiently as he tan his fingers gently through her curls, tying them back in one deft movement. The girl tugged experimentally on the ribbon and gave him a smile when it held. She began to thank him, but her voice was drowned in a sudden enormous yawn.

She lifted a hand to rub her eyes. "How much longer 'till we get home?"

"Perhaps ten minutes," came the reply. "Will you be able to make it there?"

Christine tried to take a step forward, but her tired legs collapsed beneath her and she fell heavily against her escort. There was the answer. "I just want to sleep." She looked up at the stranger hopefully. "Could you carry me?"

In the silence that followed her question she could almost hear him raise an eyebrow. Thinking she had offended him in some way, she spoke quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was very rude of me. You are probably just as tired as I am, you shouldn't have to carry me too. I can very easily walk the rest of the way, its not that far, and I-"

Without a word, her companion suddenly leaned over and scooped her into his arms, effectively stopping her babbling. But he held her carefully, as though afraid her might break her.

Christine was taken a bit by surprise at this unexpected turn of fortune, nevertheless, she was most certainly grateful for the ride. Deciding to make herself comfortable, she nestled her head against the stranger's chest, the material of his coat soft beneath her cheek.

Her escort began to walk again, his smooth, graceful stride barely rousing the child in his arms. Lulled by the steady beat of his heart, Christine let her eyes close. "Thank you." Her voice was nearly inaudible.

"You are welcome."

With that polite exchange completed, the girl let herself drift off to sleep, a look of peaceful contentment on her face.

A/N- Well people, like? Not like? Review please. My next update will be really soon, because this chapter wasn't originally intended to end here. But the notebook that I wrote the other half of the chapter in was left on a plane and is now probably en route to Tasmania. Anyhow, I am rewriting it as we speak and will hopefully post it very soon.

coughREVIEWDAMMITcough Sorry, just a little allergy there.


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